


gloria regali

by shkespeare



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Blood and Violence, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Implied Sexual Content, Kings & Queens, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Minor Character Death, Nightmares, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:54:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26065315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shkespeare/pseuds/shkespeare
Summary: Seungcheol had to learn how to navigate through grief, duty and love. Jihoon was there every step of the way, like he had always been.(This is a story about a king who lost it all and a general that sparked the embers long forgotten inside of him.)
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Comments: 14
Kudos: 39





	gloria regali

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aerynthesebacean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerynthesebacean/gifts).



> title and theme, really, from gloria regali, by tommee profitt feat. fleurie. please listen to it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fn_m9FDPuuw)!
> 
> this is very out of my comfort zone but it was one of my favourite pieces to write. i hope its a good bday gift because you deserve the best of the best only (don't know why you still stick around with me, i'm way past my expiration date). the
> 
> happy birthday, ryn. im so lucky i get to call you my best friend.
> 
> to everyone else, i hope you all enjoy this as much as i did while writing it!!! comments and kudos are always more than welcomed and appreciated<3

_gloria regali_

_(Seungcheol navigates through grief, duty and love.)_

The king was found dead on a freezing winter night.

Seungcheol could barely hear his mother’s scream with the way the wind blew outside. Guards ran down the hallways of the castle, their swords hitting against the plates of their armour, and it was only a desperate knock that woke him up from the odd numbness that had settled on his body.

He knew what had happened from the moment he heard the queen scream, a noise that would haunt the castle walls forever. His father had been sick for so long Seungcheol couldn’t even remember the day the healers first visited the royal chambers. They always gave him and his mother, the realm too, false hopes that their king would rise once again on his feet to lead his people through poverty and prosperity alike. Perhaps the thought of losing him was too much for them, just like it was for Seungcheol.

The then crown prince remembers opening the door, the guard standing behind it taking his helmet off and bowing his head in mourning.

“Your highness, your father…”

Seungcheol straightened his back and swallowed the lump that had formed on his throat. Strangely, his mind took him back to his childhood for a couple of moments; his father walked with him across the courtyard, tents set up around them for the festivities approaching. The court watched, clearly excited, for celebrating the cycle of life - birth, death, rebirth - was always of great importance to them. Seungcheol was too young to understand it then, his father had explained to him as he fixed his son’s hair, _“You’ll know it when I’m long gone, when the crown is upon your brow. Death is fertility, my son. It’s nothing to be scared of.”_

He wasn’t sure he understood it as he walked down the corridors to the king and queen’s chambers where his mother sobbed. He didn’t think he would ever understand it.

*

Jihoon had been by Seungcheol’s side ever since he could remember. They shared many firsts; the first time riding a horse, the first sparring lesson on the courtyard, the first adventure in the middle of the night to the kitchens to steal pastries. The first kiss, the first touches. _The_ first time, when they fumbled like newborn deer in soft cotton sheets, their skins almost feverish.

The first funeral, too.

It was a cold day, almost as unmerciful as the night Seungcheol’s father died. The snow clinged to his dark clothes, the freezing breeze made his nose go numb and his ears hurt. His whole entire body felt numb too, although not because of the cold. Seungcheol nodded in acknowledgement whenever a courtier gave him their condolences and prayers, scared to even open his mouth, for he knew that the wind would take away his voice too.

Sorrow and grief. Even the gods above seemed to mourn the beloved king with the way the snowstorm came down upon the land. Perhaps Seungcheol should have prayed harder for them to save his father, for them to not take the king away from him. His king, his father, his best friend. The man who had raised him and taught him everything he knew. 

Jihoon was by his side - _always_ by his side - as the queen mother wept by her late husband’s feet, her cries lost in the snowstorm falling down around them. His own parents, both nobles of high birth, stood with the court with their arms linked; they had been close to the king too. His and Jihoon’s families were always close.

Seungcheol felt the weight of the crown on his head grow as he watched his mother having to be dragged away from the funeral pyre, her sobs only getting louder as the archers got their arrows ready, their heads bright with flames. 

His own head ached, his eyes mirrored the flames flying through the air and lighting up the pyre. Its flames reached high into the sky despite the strong wind, a sign that his spirit would be welcomed by the gods for their eternal feast amongst the heroes of the world. Seungcheol didn’t care. His faith burned with his father’s cold body.

Jihoon grabbed his hand, and Seungcheol fell apart.

*

For a long time, to most of the court they were nothing more than close friends, brothers in arms born to be side by side, one as a ruler, the other as his general and most trusted advisor. And for a long time, Seungcheol thought it was for the best.

He thought about how his mother and father met in their youth and his father, the then crown prince, started to court her a mere week after they had their first encounter, and how his father would want him to do the same. To marry a noblewoman, to have children, to ensure the Choi bloodline did not die with him.

_A king without children is a fool with no legacy,_ the professor used to say whenever Seungcheol came across a lone king in his studies. _A king with no wife loses himself in power._

But him and Jihoon were always meant to be. It was so easy to become more than just friends and it was even easier to fall in love with each other so deeply neither could see a future without the other. And it frightened Seungcheol more than anything.

A king should have a wife. A king should have children with said wife. But every time he laid down in his bed with Jihoon, their bodies sticking to each other with sweat, both of them panting, the future that had been painted for him felt everything but right. 

It was only natural that he feared for his kingdom’s reaction once they learned Seungcheol did not enjoy the company of women like he enjoyed Jihoon’s. And above the people of the kingdom, both commoners and courtiers alike, he feared for his father’s reaction.

The thought of disappointing his father was always Seungcheol’s biggest fear and looking back, it was such a silly thing to feel. The king’s pride and joy was his only son, a bright and kind boy whom he always told would become a better king than himself, for his heart was pure and unmarked by disgrace.

He didn’t even bat an eyelash when Seungcheol told him about his relationship with his closest friend. He smiled at his son, and immediately all of Seungcheol’s worries had dissolved into thin air, _“Love is a man’s biggest joy in life, Seungcheol. I wish for nothing but your happiness and well-being. It comes as no surprise. You’ve always been so close, like two souls bound together by the gods even before birth.”_ He said to him, and the prince’s eyes just filled with tears as his father embraced him.

*

“We would have had his blessing, wouldn’t we?” Jihoon asked and his voice, barely a whisper, seemed to echo in the empty, cold crypts.

Faces of marble stare at Seungcheol and Jihoon as they stood before a statue of the late king, its features so painfully similar to what once was of the king’s face, before the illness took him. It was haunting, some would say, how the statue seemed to stare at those who visited the tomb, watching every move, every breath, every shiver.

For Seungcheol, it was comforting to feel watched by his father, immortalised in white marble.

“I like to think that we would, yes.” He answered after a few silent moments, the only sounds in the ancient crypts being their breaths and the cracking of the torches that illuminated the hallways, “He would have smiled throughout the entire ceremony, almost as if it was his own wedding.”

Jihoon sighed and his breath became visible in the cold air like fog.

“Do not forget the bottle of wine he would open just for the two of us, taken out of his personal collection.” The newly made royal consort and general added, and Seungcheol didn’t need to look at him to know that there was a sad smile dancing on his lips.

He knew Jihoon hurt, too. Grief comes in many different forms. Friends, family, even strangers could mourn someone they’ve never even met. It can hit people like a thunderstorm, loud and destructive, or like a gentle yet freezing cold breeze that chills you to the bones. For Jihoon, it was the latter. 

For Seungcheol? It was all the four seasons mixed into one. It was the unforgiving rains of spring, the draught of summer, the strong winds of autumn and the heavy snow of winter. He thought about what his father had said, about death and fertility. The flowers that he had left on his tomb had withered and died.

He picked them up and brushed the dry petals away from his father’s final resting place.

“Peace be with you, father.” he whispered, and Jihoon reached for his hand again - something that he had been doing so often then - and the ring on his finger brushed against Seungcheol’s skin.

  
  


*

Their wedding was beautiful, even if bittersweet. 

Jihoon wore the colours of his noble house, red and black, his hair slicked back. Not only was it their wedding, it was the day he would become a general to the king’s army, and his coronation as royal consort. So much in one day, yet it all seemed so slow.

Seungcheol’s royal robes were the same ones his father had worn on his wedding, and his father before him too. It was one of the many legacies the king had left to his beloved son, and Seungcheol didn’t hesitate when asked if he would like to continue the tradition.

He would do anything to keep his father close to him in one of the most important days of his life.

The ceremonial grounds were covered in a blanket of white snow and the skies seemed to clear up for the first time after that dreadful night that haunted Seungcheol’s dreams. The priests called it a blessing from the gods, a sign that their old king was smiling down upon his son and his husband.

There were tears in Jihoon’s eyes as Seungcheol recited his vows; his hands trembled as he took the king’s hands onto his and recited his own. His eyes were so full of love as the priest declared them married, bonded for life in the eyes of the gods, and for the first time in almost a month, Seungcheol smiled.

He smiled at his best friend, lover, _soulmate_ , for now they were married and all the surrounding kingdoms would know of their love. It would be written in books to come, to be remembered long after they’ve joined all the kings and queens in their eternal rest.

They kissed. His mother cried - _I’m so proud of you,_ her sobs seemed to say, _He’s here, Seungcheol. He’s so proud of you too._ Her tears were those of pride, happiness and sorrow. Seungcheol’s own mirrored hers.

*

Some nights, it was not just his father that died in his dreams. It was his mother, the old professor, the servant that made his bed. It was Jihoon.

His skin burned with the phantom of a fever as he woke up out of breath. The movement woke Jihoon up as well, his hand flying to Seungcheol’s chest. It was unspoken, but all it took was one look at Seungcheol’s eyes for Jihoon to _feel_ the fear in his husband’s eyes.

In Jihoon’s arms, Seungcheol wept.

He clinged onto every part of Jihoon he could reach, his nails most likely digging crescents onto his flesh hard enough to leave lasting marks. Jihoon didn’t say a word, just held him close, cupping the back of his neck, drenched in sweat.

The only light in the room was the one from the moon, the windows big enough to let the silver hues illuminate their figures almost to completion. A full moon, just like the one the king had died under. Jihoon was never very religious but even he thought it had to be some kind of curse upon his king and lover.

“It was you, it was _you_. You’re all I have.” Seungcheol chanted in his arms, his voice so alike the one of a frightened child. Jihoon couldn’t lie to himself nor the gods - it scared him to death to see Seungcheol that vulnerable.

Seungcheol’s dreams were so vivid - Jihoon paler than he’d ever seen him, cheeks drained of any colour, lips purple like the stains from the blackberries they used to pick as children. And blood, _so_ much blood. 

Jihoon drowned in blood, in Seungcheol’s dreams. Choking on it, begging the skies for air and being left unanswered. And Seungcheol had been frozen by their bloody bed, Jihoon convulsing in front of him. He hadn’t been able to move at all; Jihoon had died because of him. Because he was too scared to act.

And as he thought about those nightmarish moments, he sobbed even harder against Jihoon’s nightshirt, staining it with tears and spit as he screamed onto it.

But then Jihoon started to sing. He had always had such a beautiful voice.

It was a lullaby, one that Seungcheol remembered his wet nurse singing to him on stormy nights when he couldn’t sleep. It talked of a young boy from a small village and his mare, and how they set out to discover the world, tired of their small town. Their journeys brought them great treasures, but they realised the world was not what they had thought. Unmerciful winters, wars that sent even the strongest of men into their graves in matters of seconds. So they used the treasures they had found throughout the years and settled down. The young boy found a wife, had children; the mare had offspring of her own. 

“ _And a home in nowhere they found. And a home in nowhere they went back to._ ” Jihoon finished singing, and by then, Seungcheol’s sobs had quieted down.

He could only manage a small apology against Jihoon’s neck before sleep came to him, this time with no ill dreams.

*

Seungcheol didn’t pray anymore, but he still had ceremonies and rituals to attend to.

It was his duty as king of the land, to ensure everything was led with honour and good intent, so the people of his kingdom could prosper and heal from what had happened to them. The king often wondered if he and his family were included in those prayers, and if they would ever be answered.

*

The misery of winter passed. It took Seungcheol’s mother with it, a pneumonia that couldn’t be treated and was only aggravated by the cold. The healers said she had given up on life herself, hadn’t put any fight against the infection, and Seungcheol couldn’t find it in himself to be angry at her for leaving him alone. She had kissed his head on her deathbed, whispered three most blessed words to him, and he knew she loved him above everything else.

Jihoon was there for him when his mother’s soul left their world and for the second time in such a short time, Seungcheol fell apart when he reached to touch his cheek.

*

Spring came. Instead of bringing cherry blossoms and new life - the life Seungcheol’s father had promised him, the new life he and his mother had died for - it brought war.

His and Jihoon’s days were spent in the war room with the other advisors and commanders of the royal guard, the swords strapped to their waists a reminder of the threat that loomed over the realm. Not a day went by where they didn’t wear their full armour and walked through the castle grounds unarmed. Seungcheol couldn’t let anyone, not even the people that he was supposed to trust, see him vulnerable.

As general, Jihoon commanded his army. As royal consort, Jihoon steadied his heart.

Every morning when he woke up, there was Jihoon tracing his lips, smiling when Seungcheol opened his eyes. They shared slow morning kisses; these were the only moments of peace they had in their days. Sometimes these kisses would escalate into something more, something so desperate that had the bed creaking, the sheets falling down to the wooden floor of the royal chambers. 

They made love, and then got dressed as if they were going to battle.

*

“I want an answer, goddammit!”

“You dare to speak like that to your king?”

Seungcheol knew immediately that those words should have never left his mouth. Rage was painted across Jihoon’s features as the words echoed in the empty throne room. With his full armour and black cape over his shoulder, he looked regal. With his steel longsword, even if sheathed, he looked _deadly_.

“You may have forgotten, Seungcheol, but before you’re my king, you’re my husband.” Each word was uttered furiously, and the king deeply regretted letting his frustration get to him so much that he upset his husband.

At the lack of an answer from him, the general continued, “Why did you lie to me? Why was there no warning about the mission you sent _my_ men to? Why didn’t you even bother to ask me? I thought they had been killed, Seungcheol. How can I become the general this kingdom needs when you put yourself in the way of me fulfilling my duty?”

_Why, why, why_.

Fear. It was fear that kept Seungcheol from warning Jihoon about the enemy scouts sighted near the southern border. It was fear that made Seungcheol send Jihoon’s most trusted soldiers without telling their leader. He should have known it was useless to try to keep him within the safety of the castle walls.

Jihoon sighed and stepped forward until he was in front of the throne. Seungcheol’s eyes told him everything he needed to know. To him, the king’s eyes were like a book he read more times than he can count, a finite infinity of emotions he had mapped with his mind and heart.

“It’s _my_ duty, Seungcheol. Just like it is yours to make sure that your people are safe and healthy, that the kingdom is protected. Where your ends, mine begins. What kind of general am I if I’m not there to fight with my brothers in arms, my love?”

The guards next to Seungcheol didn't blink at the affectionate term their general uses towards the king. Jihoon knelt in front of his husband, and the world around them seemed to stop. Seungcheol’s heart skipped a beat when Jihoon traced his fingertips across Seungcheol’s bruised knuckles - every day he would come down to the training fields and wrestle whoever dared to face him. An outlet, even if destructive in itself. His rage needed to go somewhere.

“I can’t lose you.” The words left his heart and mouth before he could stop himself, “You’re all I have, Jihoon. It’s foolish, it’s a liability - but it’s the truth. I can’t bear it. I’ll die of heartbreak.”

Seungcheol’s voice cracked as he spoke, like a child fighting back their tears. His chest ached with all the pain he’d pushed to the side and he struggled to breathe. He could hear sea waves in his head, a storm that would have every fisherman praying for their lives building up. He fell and fell and fell, and the waves came crashing down on him. There was no escape, no air. He couldn’t breathe.

And then there was Jihoon. His strong, brave Jihoon who came to his rescue from the destruction he’d brought upon himself. He never found out how Jihoon did it, how he knew Seungcheol better than Seungcheol knew himself. Knew every corner of his mind, from the one that contained all the happy moments, to the one where Seungcheol was as small as an insignificant ant and the world swallowed him whole.

Jihoon knelt in front of him. The guards were dismissed with a nod and a wave of his hand.

“Not even death can tear us apart. Our names will be written in stories to come, together. You’ll have me for as long as you live, _here_.” Jihoon’s hand came to rest on the left side of his breastplate, “Memories, Seungcheol. No one truly dies if memories of them still live.”

The night his father had died, Jihoon had run to the royal quarters, shivering from the cold and drenched from the snow that had melted. The morning his mother took her last breath, Jihoon had held him for hours in his childhood bedroom as he screamed in pain. Every nightmare he had, Jihoon had been there in his bed to calm him, to love him. 

But just like he was there for Seungcheol, he had to be there for his men. For the soldiers that would follow him into darkness in the chance of finding light. He only realised he had started crying when Jihoon wiped his tears softly, his hands warm. Jihoon was a fire when Seungcheol felt the coldest. And the kingdom needed that fire to keep them safe just as much as Seungcheol did.

“If rougher times come, you’ll join me in the battlefields. And we will lead our lands to victory, to a promise of a better future. Together.” _If, not when_ , Jihoon said. He still had faith.

The embers that had long cooled down inside of Seungcheol seemed to try and spark into flames again for the first time in so long. Jihoon still had faith. Maybe he could, too.

*

Rougher times did come. 

The enemy managed to poison nearly half of their water sources through unsupervised wells in the southern border. The crops were dying out, the grain was scarce. People resorted to making bread out of anything they could salvage, from olive pits to fine wood dust. They wouldn’t last another season like that.

The next mission Jihoon went on, with Seungcheol’s knowledge and wishes of good fortune, he came back with three less men and a scar across his face. It was deep and he would forever bear its mark. 

His father had been crowned in glory and ruled under its term. The crown on Seungcheol’s head was nothing but misery.

*

Battlefields replaced the cold, stone walls of the castle in Seungcheol’s nightmares.

There was him, there was Jihoon and there was their entire army. He blinked. Suddenly he was in the middle of a dirty field, the stench of blood and sweat not allowing him to breathe. Bodies were piled up on top of each other so no pyre would be needed to burn them. Crows flew around in circles above him. 

On top of the pile, a familiar sword handle glinted under the scorching sun. Jihoon’s. That was Jihoon’s sword.

There was blood all over his face. The scar had been cut open by a vicious sword, and his blood dripped down the mountain of corpses like a river. The wine red ocean was at his feet.

*

“I’ll be deformed for eternity, they say.”

Jihoon’s words were nothing more than a whisper, drowned out by the cackling fire and overlapping of voices outside their tent where a few soldiers ate and warmed up by. Seungcheol turned in their makeshift bed so he could look at his lover, the other half of his very tormented soul.

His scar wasn’t pretty to look at. He knew soldiers averted their gaze when they talked to the general; staring would be considered rude and improper of them, no matter how hard it was to go against the urge to do so. But it was healed, the infection long gone before it could threaten his life. And for that, Seungcheol was thankful.

“You’re not deformed to me.” He said to his husband, his eyes more than sincere. He would never lie to him. Not again.

“Beauty doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, anyway. It should _never_ matter, but I know my name and descriptions of how fucking _ugly_ I became will always go hand in hand in stories to come. Oh, I can almost imagine the ballads they’ll write, Seungcheol. Maybe they’re already being written as we speak. The king and his royal consort, whom he didn’t leave out of pity.”

Each and every word of Jihoon’s stung like a needle pricking onto the back of his neck. He reached to trace his face, to brush his fingertips against the shiny skin of his scar ever so gently, and Jihoon hummed.

“You could have come to me without an arm and a leg. The thought of leaving you would have never crossed my mind. I wouldn’t do it, Jihoon. You own every piece of my heart.”

Jihoon smiled. Even his smile was different with the way his skin stretched and pulled around the cut. It was still as beautiful as before to Seungcheol, like the lily pads that grew on the castle’s ponds and blossomed into beautiful white flowers. 

“I know.” 

Seungcheol kissed him harder than he should have in the middle of an army encampment. Jihoon gave it all for him. For once, for the first night in months, Seungcheol wanted Jihoon to take, and not give, so he rolled on top of him, hoping that his husband would understand. There was a small fire burning inside of him and he wanted it to warm Jihoon up like he had done to Seungcheol in the most freezing of nights.

The furs on their bed hit the floor with a soft thud. Seungcheol’s hands undid the laces of Jihoon’s nightshirt, exposing the pale chest peppered with silver scars that were once mixed with mouth shaped bruises from their most fervent lovemaking nights. Seungcheol wanted them all back. Oh, how his body had missed Jihoon’s.

That night, only them mattered. The war was forgotten for the hours they spent touching, the hours they spent _loving_ ; the world existed solely in the royal war tent. The fire inside the king burned brighter than it ever had before and Seungcheol could only hope Jihoon felt it too. 

He couldn’t give two shits about controlling the fire inside of him. For all he cared, it could burn the tent, the entire camp. Let everyone know that their king was a flame, the ashes of what once had been a scared prince scattered on the wind. And he was only going to burn even brighter.

A bottle of oil was found.

They didn’t care who heard them or what rumours would spark from the noises coming from the royal tent. Seungcheol knew how to touch, and Jihoon let himself be touched. His back arched off the bed, chest pressed against his king’s. His soulmate’s.

_I love you._ Seungcheol’s heart seemed to say with the way it was beating. Jihoon threw his head back and moaned his name.

_I love you too._

*

In full armour and ready for battle, Seungcheol looked every bit of the king he was. 

As he left his tent, he fought to ignore the whispers of the soldiers and servants waiting for his commands. He couldn’t be vulnerable, his people needed him to be as steady as a mountain, as fierce as a wildfire. Jihoon was waiting for him near the front of their camp, staring at the woods across the fields. Smoke was rising above the dense trees, a sign that the enemy was close. Too close. Too soon.

Jihoon took his hand, just like he had at his father’s funeral.

_Not even death can tear us apart._

*

On the first day of winter, Seungcheol visited the crypts again. 

A statue of his mother had joined the marble figures lit up by candlelight under the castle. She was right next to her husband, their faces so alike what Seungcheol remembered of them. 

They were together, even in death. Maybe Jihoon had been right all along. Forever would his father be remembered as a kind king and his mother the merciful queen. Hand in hand, bodies laid together to rest for eternity under their sculpted tombs.

He picked up the withering flowers and replaced them with fresh ones from the castle's greenhouse. White, just like the lily pads. White, just the snow that covered the land every winter.

White, just like the last piece of ice that melted in Seungcheol's soul as he placed the fresh flowers on his parents' tombs.

Grief came in many different forms. Seungcheol finally learned how to tame and accept his. The fire became a hearth.

*

Seungcheol had scars. Not all of them were visible.

Jihoon knew them all by heart. He mapped Seungcheol’s body and soul like a cartographer out on the sea. Seungcheol knew his Jihoon’s, traced them with the tips of his fingers as they fell asleep in the comfort of their bed. He was beautiful, scars and all. They both were.

*

The war was over. Countless lives had been lost during the year it had stretched over, but the people were healing. Seungcheol and Jihoon were healing. They brought peace upon their lands through blood and tears, through sleepless nights and hours of unrelenting fighting.

_King Seungcheol, the Peacebringer_ \- so many had adopted the name for their king. Although short the war had devastated the land in a way that had never been described in the history books before. Peace was welcomed like an old friend. Peace was well deserved.

They also said he looked like his father more and more with each day that passed, and once upon a time Seungcheol would have felt sick at the thought of it.

But he knew. He knew that he had his father's face and his mother's kind eyes. They were with him every step of the way, no matter how hard things got. They never really died. Seungcheol would be with them forever. All the memories, all the stories. They were more than alive to him.

*

Jihoon loved waking him up with sweet, gentle kisses pressed to his jaw, his touches as light as a feather. Seungcheol was more than happy to be woken up like that for the rest of his days.

He understood now.

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is more than appreciated!!!!!
> 
> find me on: [twitter](http://twitter.com/shkespeare_) [pinterest](http://pinterest.com/antivancrows)


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